


The House-Elf/Portrait Collusion

by centaury_squill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2011-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centaury_squill/pseuds/centaury_squill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years of observing Dumbledore have given another headmaster's portrait a taste for interfering in other people's lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The House-Elf/Portrait Collusion

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Back to Hogwarts fest. Thanks to shoeboxes4all for the beta, and to accioslash for continuing to run fests I simply can't resist. An extra big thank-you to veridian_dair for the stick-figure illustrations! (And to shadowess for hosting them.)

Harry gave a satisfied sigh and put his knife and fork down on his empty plate. The Leaky Cauldron's menu had certainly improved since Hannah Abbott took over from old Tom.

"Want to come back to my place for a coffee or something, Jack?" he asked the tall, dark wizard sitting opposite him.

Jack looked doubtful. "Have you still got that freaky house-elf of yours?"

"Um, yeah," said Harry. _Damn, what has Kreacher been doing now? He's always scaring off my dates._ "I could tell him to keep out of our way," he offered.

But Jack was pushing back his chair, getting up from the table. "Some other time, maybe." He stooped and gave Harry a quick, casual kiss. "Thanks for the meal. It was great."

And he sauntered out of the pub, stopping at the door to wave to Harry before disappearing into the night. Harry waved back, then slowly lowered his arm.

He'd really have to do something about Kreacher.

*

"I've really got to do something about Kreacher, Hermione," Harry said. "He's driving me mad. He fusses around me all the time and frightens my dates away."

"Have you considered freeing him?" Hermione asked, predictably. "It's not as if there's any danger of him betraying Order secrets to the Malfoys any more. The war's been over for years."

Harry blew out his breath with an exasperated sound. "Yeah. I know that. I asked him ages ago if he'd like to be freed."

"And?"

"He was horrified," Harry said gloomily. "You'd think I was offering to poison him."

He looked at Hermione's face, full of concern over his problem, and smiled.

"Thanks for coming out for coffee with me, Hermione. I guess Ron's starting to see sense, huh?"

Hermione went pink. "I didn't tell him I was meeting you."

Seeing the smile fade from his face, she went on hurriedly, "Give him time, Harry. You know it was a big shock to him when you and Ginny broke up, especially with you coming out as gay. I'm trying to get him to be fair to you, but it's not easy. Ron can be really stubborn."

"Tell me about it," muttered Harry. Then he made an effort to look cheerful. "Never mind, Hermione." He stretched out his hand for a biscuit. "Forget Ron for a minute. What am I going to do about Kreacher?"

Hermione stirred her coffee thoughtfully. At last she said, "How about sending him to work at Hogwarts again for a while?"

Harry's fake smile became genuine. "Hermione, that's brilliant! I'll do it as soon as I get home."

*

Harry hummed happily to himself as he pottered about the big old kitchen. The absence of Kreacher's grumbling running commentary was such a relief; it was great to have his life back. Maybe he'd send an owl to Jack, see if he wanted to come over for a meal this evening. One Harry would cook himself, with no interference from Kreacher. He stepped into the pantry and began examining the foodstuffs on the shelves. Hmm, maybe he'd better fit in a shopping trip, get some of that cheese that Jack liked. And a bottle of that nice red wine...

He'd just pulled out a scrap of paper to begin making a list, when he heard a horribly familiar voice behind him.

"Master mustn't trouble himself, Kreacher will cook whatever Master wants."

Harry whirled round. "Kreacher! What are you doing here? You should be at Hogwarts!"

Kreacher gave an affronted sniff. "Headmaster Snape told Kreacher to go away," he said. "Headmaster Snape said he wasn't having Potter's spies at Hogwarts, reporting on his every move."

"Well tell Headmaster Snape he can just kiss my arse!" Harry roared. He turned away, fuming. What a paranoid git Snape was! The war long over, everything settled, you'd think he'd let bygones be bygones by now.

Then Harry began to think better of his outburst. After all, Snape had been through a lot. It didn't excuse him, maybe, but perhaps Harry should cut him some slack, try to be mature about this. He turned back to Kreacher, trying to think of a conciliatory message to send Snape.

But Kreacher had disappeared.

*

Severus Snape sat, brooding, behind his huge, imposing desk. Maybe he had overreacted, shouting at Potter's house-elf like that. Most likely the young man hadn't intended any harm by sending him here. But the unexpected sight of Kreacher mending his office fire at dead of night had unleashed such an onslaught of painful memories that he'd roared at him with anger, without thought.

Snape drummed his fingers on the desk top as he thought about Potter, his eyes going involuntarily to the drawer where he kept a stack of recent _Daily Prophets_ , detailing the Chosen One's every public move. And – if the lurid kiss-and-tell stories were to be believed (Snape's lip lifted in a sneer) – many of his private ones, too. Not for worlds would he have anyone know that the most lurid of all weren't in the desk drawer, but in his private, warded bathroom: material for his hottest wank fantasies.

The memory of the latest of these set Snape shifting in his chair, trousers uncomfortably tight across his groin. His hand had strayed into his lap before a crack! made him snatch it guiltily away, staring wide-eyed at Kreacher's sudden reappearance.

It was the worst – or possibly the best, depending on your point of view – time for the obnoxious house-elf to deliver his master's message.

It certainly fuelled Snape's response.

*

"He said WHAT!" Harry bellowed, glaring at Kreacher.

The house-elf wrung his hands, hung his head, but Harry thought he could detect a sly satisfaction in Kreacher's tone as he repeated, "Headmaster Snape said to tell Harry Potter that Harry Potter can suck his cock, sir."

Harry dropped his quill onto his desk – he'd been about to owl Jack, asking him over that evening – and put his head in his hands. His voice was muffled as he asked, "And what had you said to him?"

"What Master told me to say, of course." Kreacher sounded injured. "That Headmaster Snape could just kiss Master's arse. And then Headmaster Snape said –"

"Yes, you told me," interrupted Harry. "Just – go and tidy the kitchen, or something. I need to think."

Grumbling, Kreacher left the room. Harry stared after him, his mind filled with images: himself bending over, Snape's tongue slick against his arse; kneeling in front of Snape, his mouth around Snape's cock. To his surprise, these thoughts weren't revolting. Not at all. No, they were... exciting.

Harry picked up his quill. He no longer felt like writing to Jack.

Instead, he began a letter to Snape:  
Dear ~~Professor~~ Headmaster Snape,  
I'm sorry my house-elf Kreacher annoyed you. I didn't send him to Hogwarts to spy on you, I just wanted to get him out of my hair for a few days. He can be very annoying! But I didn't mean him to upset you. I thought he could help out in the kitchens or something....

Harry paused, sucking the end of his quill. How could he tactfully apologise for his disrespectful message?

 ~~I didn't really mean Kreacher to repeat what I said about you kissing my arse~~ No, that wouldn't do.

 ~~Kreacher shouldn't have told you to kiss my arse~~

Nor that.

 ~~I don't want you to kiss my arse~~

Definitely not.

 ~~Actually, I'd quite like you to k~~

Oh, shit.

Harry crumpled the letter into a ball and hurled it into the wastepaper basket. _Get a grip_ , he told himself sternly, pulling a fresh piece of parchment towards him.

Dear Headmaster Snape, he wrote, then paused again, remembering the message Kreacher had relayed from Snape. Could Snape possibly be thinking about him, er, _that way_? Unconsciously he began to doodle on the parchment as he thought about this possibility.

Oops.

Harry went bright red as he saw what he'd drawn: [a stick figure with big nose and cock](http://www.shadowess.com/hp_fests/back_to_hogwarts_2010/art/sfcstill.jpg) standing in front of a kneeling stick figure with untidy hair, glasses and lightning scar. Then he looked round guiltily to make sure Kreacher hadn't returned from the kitchen, and tapped the picture with his wand.

The stick figures [instantly became animated](http://www.shadowess.com/hp_fests/back_to_hogwarts_2010/art/sfc.gif), like a Muggle cartoon film. The standing figure's fingers clutched at the kneeler's messy hair; his cock plunged in and out of the O of a mouth. The real Harry's own mouth fell open at the frenzied lust emanating from the parchment.

At last the frantic movements slowed, drops of ink flew out of the Snape figure's cock, an expression of sated enjoyment came over both the tiny faces.

Then they started all over again.

As Harry watched, mesmerised, he realised he was hard. Very hard. Hell, he was about to come in his pants! He scrambled to his feet and almost ran out of the room, hand dropping to shield his groin as he saw Kreacher coming along the corridor. As they passed in the doorway, Harry gasped out, "Back in a minute," and made for the sanctuary of the bathroom.

Seconds later his trousers were round his ankles, his cock in his hand. Images of Snape's thin lips and dark eyes filled his head. Two frenzied tugs on his cock and he was coming, in long, almost painful spurts.

He leaned against the locked bathroom door, shaking all over, breathing slowly returning to normal. Damn it, he shouldn't be thinking about Snape like this. Harry groaned. He'd better tear up that sketch and write a _proper_ apology to his former professor.

But when he got back to his desk, the parchment had gone.

So had Kreacher.

*

Severus Snape stared in disbelief at the piece of parchment lying face up on his desk. It had only taken a glance to tell him who the sketch was supposed to represent and what they were doing. Who could have drawn it? Who could possibly suspect his inappropriate feelings for Potter? And how the _hell_ had they got past the Headmaster's office wards to put it on his desk?

He glared round at the portraits lining the walls. They all avoided his eyes; Phineas Black was unsuccessfully trying to hide a smirk. Snape's gaze was drawn back to the cartoon on the parchment. To his horror he felt his cock stirring at the sight of the stick-art blow job. His hand reached out involuntarily and touched the parchment.

Instantly Snape snatched his hand back, eyes wide, at the powerful surge of magic which had crackled out of the parchment into his fingers. It must have come from the spell used to animate the stick figures. Another shock ran through him as he recognised the magical signature: Potter's.

Potter _himself_ had done this? Why? Was he trying to mock him, Snape? But in that case, surely the positions of the stick figures would be reversed?

The insistent urgings of his cock becoming impossible to ignore, Snape swept the parchment up from his desk and headed for his private bathroom. As the door closed behind him, the portraits lining the office walls exchanged glances.

Phineas Nigellus sniggered.

*

As Harry came downstairs the next morning he thought he heard the sound of conversation coming from one of the bedrooms on the first floor. Going to investigate, he found Kreacher, apparently alone in the room.

"Who were you talking to, Kreacher?"

"Kreacher is cleaning," the house-elf replied evasively.

Harry looked suspiciously around the cobwebby bedroom. True, Kreacher always talked to himself. But he could have sworn he'd heard a different voice as well.

"What would Master like to eat tonight?" Kreacher asked, rubbing his bony hands together. "Kreacher can make treacle tart."

"Oh – I dunno. Thanks, but I'll probably be eating at the Leaky Cauldron."

Kreacher's huge bushy eyebrows jutted ominously. "Master should stay at home and eat the food Kreacher spends hours preparing, not keep eating in pubs with strange wizards who only seek the fame of being seen with the great Harry Potter."

Harry stared at him. "That's what you think, is it? Well, for your information, I don't have any plans to meet anyone tonight. Not that it's any of your business." He suddenly thought of something, and turned red. "Uh, Kreacher? What did you do with that piece of parchment yesterday?"

"What piece of parchment does Master mean?"

"You don't do innocence very well, Kreacher. The one on my desk. The one with the, er, picture on it?"

The house-elf looked cunning. "Kreacher tidied it away, sir. Somewhere no unauthorised wizard may go."

"O-kaay," Harry said, narrowing his eyes. "Well, don't let me interfere with your – _cleaning_." He stalked out of the room in a huff.

Kreacher peeped round the door to make sure he'd gone, then went back to his interrupted conference with Phineas Nigellus' portrait.

*

Severus Snape sat at his desk, staring absently out of the window at the setting sun. It had been an extremely busy day, being the last full day of term, and tomorrow the Hogwarts Express would come to take all the brats away for the summer. Peace stretched ahead of him, but he didn't feel the expected relief. No, he felt... restless. Unfulfilled.

Darkness gradually fell in the circular room, but Snape still sat motionless, brooding. Gentle snores came from the surrounding portraits; all but one. The portrait of Phineas Nigellus just showed a painted background. Phineas himself was absent.

Snape brooded on...

"Sitting in the dark, Severus?"

Snape waved his hand irritably and enchanted candles sprang to life all around the room. Phineas Nigellus was back in his frame, smirking.

"What do you want?" growled Snape.

"It's more what _you_ want, isn't it?" Phineas said airily, flicking an imaginary bit of lint off his sleeve. "For instance, I could tell you who breached your wards yesterday and left that, ahem, _interesting_ doodle on your desk."

Snape tensed; he'd reached his own conclusion about that. He schooled his features to impassivity. "I expect it was that obnoxious house-elf of Potter's."

An annoyed look crossed Phineas' face, then he rallied. "Ah, but do you know _why_ he did it?"

"Because he's obnoxious?"

"Because he wished to bring his master's state of unrequited lust to your attention."

"Potter has any number of attractive young admirers," Snape said drily, thinking of the stack of _Daily Prophet_ s in his bathroom. "Why would he be suffering from unrequited lust for me, of all people?"

Phineas Nigellus sniffed. "There's no accounting for tastes," he drawled. "And it's not really _unrequited_ , now is it?"

Snape said nothing.

"Come now, Severus, you can't deny you have feelings for the young man. Why not give the both of you a chance?"

"Nonsense!" Snape snapped.

Phineas Nigellus shrugged, and closed his eyes. After a moment his snores joined in the chorus of the other portraits. But every so often, he peeped out from under his eyelids, and at last was rewarded by seeing Snape take parchment and quill, and begin:

 _Dear Mr Potter_...

*

Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap.

Harry muttered something incoherent, and turned over in bed.

Tap-tap.

What the –?

TAP-TAP.

He sat bolt upright, fumbling for his glasses.

 **TAP! TAP!**

Harry stumbled sleepily across the room and flung open the window. A large owl buffeted him across the face with its wing as it flew into the room. It perched on the back of a chair and held out its leg, waiting only for Harry to remove the letter it carried before sweeping out again.

Harry immediately recognised the writing, familiar from Hogwarts blackboards. Why was _Snape_ writing to him? Was it a formal complaint about Kreacher?

 _Dear Mr Potter_ – Harry blinked at the _Dear_ ; still, it probably didn't mean anything – _It appears we have things to discuss._ Harry felt his guts clench. In his mind he could hear Snape saying the words, his voice dark with menace and an undercurrent of desire. Harry bit his lip and rapidly scanned the rest of the letter.

 _If you are man enough to meet me in person, instead of sending salacious messages by your go-between_ – "Bloody Kreacher!" Harry muttered, his face warming – _the Hogwarts Express leaves King's Cross at 8.00 am: be on it._

Harry shot a quick look at the clock, gave a startled yelp, and began hastily scrambling into his clothes. Minutes later, he was hurtling down the stairs. The front door of Number 12, Grimmauld Place slammed behind him.

He didn't notice the curtains at an upstairs window twitch as Kreacher watched him out of sight.

*

Harry stared absently at the green fields flashing past the carriage window. It seemed strange to be aboard the Hogwarts Express again after all these years; stranger to have a compartment to himself. He almost seemed to see Ron and Hermione sitting opposite him. For a moment he was a boy again, excitedly looking forward to a new term. Then he caught sight of his reflection in the glass. No, that schoolboy was gone for good. He didn't even look like James Potter any more.

The scenery gradually changed, became wilder. At last, Harry recognised the approach to Hogsmeade station. He could see a happy crowd of students on the platform, waiting to get on the train and be whisked away at the start of their summer holidays. The train puffed slowly into the station and stopped with a jerk. Harry quickly opened the door and stepped out. None of the laughing, joking crowd paid him any attention as he made his way out of the station.

Standing on the road outside were a number of thestral-drawn stagecoaches, the final few students climbing down from them and heading into the station. Thinking he'd save himself a long walk, Harry started towards the nearest coach. But, as if at a signal, the thestrals all rose into the air at once, leaving the stagecoaches behind, and flew off. Harry stood watching them disappear into the distance, and scratched his head. Presumably the stagecoaches were stored at the station waiting for the students' return on the first of September. Oh, well, looked like he'd have that long walk after all.

As Harry crossed the station yard he saw a coach he hadn't noticed before, standing in the corner. It was much smaller than the usual stagecoaches, and – his heart leapt – still had a thestral between the shafts. He hurried towards it, worried that this thestral, too, might abandon its carriage and fly away. But it stood placidly between the shafts; as placidly that is, as a skeletal creature with razor-edged hooves and red glowing eyes can stand.

He had just reached the carriage when its door swung open, a hand reached out, seized Harry and pulled him inside. The door slammed shut, the coach jerked into motion as the thestral set off towards Hogwarts castle. Harry found himself staring into the black eyes of Severus Snape.

Still holding eye contact, Snape drew a piece of parchment from his robes and held it out.

"Would you care to explain... _this_ , Mr Potter?" he asked, his voice every bit as dark and dangerous as Harry had imagined it.

Harry glanced down at the parchment. "Uh..."

Then he looked more closely, shot a quick look at Snape, who was now smirking. "Have you changed this?"

Snape nodded. "Hormonal frenzy is all very well, but I prefer things to be more... slow and subtle."

Eyes glued to the parchment, Harry nodded. He had to admit that Snape's modification to his animation spell made the stick-figure action even more erotic. And...

"It makes it last... longer," Snape whispered, his hand on Harry's knee.

Harry's throat was suddenly dry; he couldn't speak. He slid down to kneel on the carriage floor. Snape clamped his legs on either side of him, bracing Harry against the jolting of the carriage. His long fingers slid through Harry's hair.

"An improvement, don't you think... _Harry_?"

Harry swallowed hard. He reached out, parting Snape's robes and freeing his erection. It wasn't quite the size of his fantasies, but impressive none the less. "Let's try it your way, then... _Severus_ ," he croaked.

And taking Snape's cock into his mouth he did so, to their mutual satisfaction, as the stagecoach bounced and swayed along the long road to Hogwarts.

 ****

Fin


End file.
